


in your heart shall burn

by flailingthroughsanity



Series: Episode: Noctis [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flailingthroughsanity/pseuds/flailingthroughsanity
Summary: The Starscourge is gone, the Astrals have fallen to eternal sleep and Eos is slowly recovering in the aftermath. Given a second life, Noctis, together with his friends, helps the world rebuild itself, believing that he has finally been given a chance to live in peace. All was supposed to be well.South of Gralea, however, in the lands blessed by the Astrals before their passing, news of resurgent daemon attacks begin to rise, threatening the safety of the peace afforded to Eos. To make things worse, Noctis begins to receive visions of an ancient evil that has awakened, threatening to end all existence.In these perilous times, all must stand together or surrender and fall to the coming darkness.





	1. Prologus

**Author's Note:**

> The adventure fic that I've been stewing since On Your Hill of Calvary. Now, ideally it's best to read Calvary first before this but - since I'm also gonna be touching on the events in Calvary in this fic, this can work as a stand-alone, too. Rating and tags may be changed and added. Nothing too dramatic. Just expect canon-typical violence and glorious smut from time to time. 
> 
> Set a year after the events of Calvary.

 

PROLOGUS

* * *

 

 

 

Weird. There was no other word to describe the ruins around her, cutting in underneath the thick hanging leaves of the trees. The sky was tinged in orange and gold – a setting sun – and Morrigan raised her hand to wipe the sweat off her face. Gripping the hilt of the sword on her waist, she walked off to the side where the ground was a little more even. The ruins around looked foreboding, tall and decrepit, marked and hidden by the tall trees around it and the shadows lurking in the corners. Even though the expedition had set camp here in Terra for quite some time now, she still hasn’t gotten used to the terrain. Well, just a few more hours to go and she can call back in for the end of her shift.

She climbs over a thick root and skirts around a fallen boulder, the dismal light cutting in patches through the trees, the craggy towers silent in their stillness. Looks creepy enough if she really thinks about it, the same way her brother used to scare her with stories of ghosts hiding in old rooms and dark corners. Growing up during the Long Night – it ceased to be a story, that she knew, when real daemons lurked in the shadows outside Lestallum’s walls.

“Fucking hot,” she growls, pushing her hair out of her face. She should have brought her cap – this is exactly what happens when you spend the night drinking with friends and waking up five minutes late for your shift with a hangover. A breeze picks up and the tall grass blades shift, the sound echoing in her hears. She’s grateful for the slight, if temporary, respite and looks back to the ruins. The silence returns.

She pauses, gripping the sword again. She frowns and looks up – she hasn’t heard a single bird call in a while now. The sky was still golden – daytime – but the shadows in the forest were growing thicker. Dusk.

It wasn’t unusual, especially in this part of Eos, to have really weird weather. The days had been longer in the first few weeks they’ve settled down here in Terra but they’ve been growing steadily shorter. Just yesterday, she made it back to camp in the nigh darkness. Scouting was always dangerous, but it had become less so after the Long Night had ended and the daemons had disappeared. The only danger now lay in getting lost or taking a nasty fall with nobody around to help you.

Morrigan had been a hunter for a few years now – been with the Highwind Expedition for the better part of the last four years. She wasn’t helpless, and she definitely wasn’t in need of saving.

Still – her eyes swiveling around the forest – Terra  was one of those lands that were recently discovered. Nobody knew anything about them – not more than what she knows, anyway. Even if she wasn’t some scientist off in a lab and studying dirt, she knows enough to understand that when it comes to magic and Astral bullshit, it’s best not poke at things you’re not sure of. Not with all the ice in Gralea melting when the Glacian’s corpse broke down a year ago. Shit’s been weird ever since then.

Well, no point in worrying about all that, not when she has a job to—

Wait.

She frowns.

The thing about being alone in a really quiet place is that your mind starts to play tricks on you, makes you think you’re hearing things when you’re not – takes some training and discipline to get used to just how damn quiet everything could be when you’re all by yourself.

That drives the realization that what she’s hearing – a sort of grating, dragging sound, like something metal grazing stone – wasn’t a figment of her imagination. She falls to a crouch, quietly pulling her sword out, eyes on the ruins a few meters away. She feels her gun against her other thigh and she entertains the idea of range, but not for this. Biggs’ company was all about firepower, but Wedge emphasized stealth and adaptability, plus she’s always been faster and quieter on her feet and better with a blade in her hand. Guns were for emergencies, plus she hates how she always has to carry bullets for them.

She skirts around the trunks of trees, making no sound save for the almost silent pat of her boots on the roots – deliberately avoiding stepping on the ground, rife with fallen branches – and the pounding of her heart in her hears. Her fingers begin to sweat and she allows herself to grin. The adrenaline was her favorite part.

Morrigan manages to reach the outer grounds of the ruins, where the stone replaces earth, and littered across the ground were crags and rubble. She presses herself against the trunk of the nearest tree, eyeing the open spaces and the blind spots. The sun was still up, that she knew, but it was getting darker and the afternoon light painted everything an eerie amber glow. Everything was quiet – not even the clicks of a passing flock could be heard. Like she was the only one alive.

Hm. Everything was still clear, but it couldn’t hurt to be cautious. Feeling behind her for the radio, she presses it against her mouth and opens a frequency.

Only for her to hear nothing but static.

Frowning, she turns to another frequency and gets nothing but the same static. Hm. It had been working this morning, that she was sure of. Restarting it only to hear the same crackling sound that meant she was out of signal coverage – pretty damn convenient. Useless.

Slipping it back into the holster, Morrigan turns and decides to make for camp early, not caring if she’s going to get an earful from the next guy on duty complaining. She steps back down to the grass and—

There’s the dragging sound again. Clearer. Closer.

The hair on the back of her neck stands on end as she turns to the ruins, hears the sound echoing from within.

Could be an animal, you know. She’d like to think that. Well, one way to find out.

Gripping the sword even tighter, she makes sure to avoid the boulders and slowed her pace as she walks next to the walls of the ruins, eyes taking in the gibberish carved into it – some ancient language, obviously. Again – part of the job means seeing a lot of weird shit like the Disc turning into a lake or the Taelpar Crag turning into a river.

She cuts a corner and stills herself, listening. The sound had long faded, but nothing that created that sound could disappear without leaving a trace. She tips her sword out of the corner, waiting for something to respond to the movement. It was getting more difficult to see, the shadows growing thicker by the passing second. Nothing.

She peeks her head out and sees nothing else, except for a dilapidated looking room – bare and walled, more stones and rubble and the marks and patches of vegetation growing in the corners. There might even be a broken statue’s arm in there, somewhere, if she cares to look.

Huh.

Weird. What could have made that sound?

She steps into the open, sword bared before her, and her other hand gripping the pistol. She slowly makes her way forward, eyes unflinchingly staring into the shadows. The other end wasn’t that far, a few steps more and she was already halfway into the hall or whatever this used to be. There really was nothing.

She turns her eyes to the other side – there was nowhere else for whatever made the sound to go. It was a completely walled off room and she was standing by where it would have needed to go to leave or enter. Something wasn’t right.

She pick up her radio, and tries to open another frequency. No sound comes and she stares – befuddled – as she takes in the blank radio screen. She sees the ON button pressed and, frowning, tries to restart it. The blank screen remains the same. The radio was dead.

Fuck. Something wasn’t right. Gooseflesh ran up her arms. The radio battery was barely even halfway to draining just a few minutes ago, she was damn sure of it.

She puts it away, turning around to face the open, the pounding of her heart in her ears intensifying as the shadows had grown even darker – but wait, the sun was still up—?

She decides to go back to camp, fuck it all, pistol in her hand with the safety off. She stills – her hands icy – as the dragging sound returns – stronger and closer.

Right behind her.

The darkness that had creeped into the room was pitch black, and the clang echoed from within. She was frozen to the spot as a chill ran up her spine, all her instincts telling her to run. Whatever was in there – whatever was hiding in the shadows – it was not frenzied beast. She hadn’t felt something this…cold and chilling in a long while. Since…since the Long Night.

Her eyes widened, lips parting, as the thought takes root.

No.

No.

Impossible.

It’s been  nine years.

It couldn’t be.

She hasn’t seen one since the sun came up.

The clang – the echo – grows closer, the warning bells resounding in her head but she can’t make her legs move—

Out of the darkness, in the fading light, something humanoid reaches out and it’s—

 

 

 

 

—her mind is nothing but a roaring white as terror seizes her.

 

She screams.

She screams and she slashes at it with her sword.

She can’t—

The image is burned into her eyes—

The silver gleam of the blade cuts at nothing but shadows, the visage dissipating—

Finally, her legs fucking move and she runs back, eyes on the golden light of the sky – the sun is still fucking up –

But, no, impossible, please no—

Those things in the shadows between the trees, the slithering darkness that was alive and looking at her, and they were everywhere, no place to run or go—

The pitch black eyes staring at her from the corner of the wall where she had been a while ago—

Run, run, run, run. Her mind screamed at her—

All her instincts were flashing red—

Danger. That was what was fueling her blood.

 

 

Her scream is cut short as something grabs her by the neck and pulls her back into the darkness—

She feels—

Nothing but pure fear.

Darkness drowns her.


	2. I: presage flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so we finally get to the start of the story. I had to insert the prologue as it set the tone for this one. Like any other fictional work - literature or media - the first chapter/episode will always be an exposition-filled lore drop and this one is no different. Don't worry - I won't drown people with the lore and the world building in one chapter. I'll scatter it out and put it where it's necessary to the plot as this fic is more plot-driven than character-driven, but our boys still get time to shine! :)
> 
> chapter title is taken from Fate/Stay Night - Heaven's Feel.

**CHAPTER I: presage flower**

* * *

 

 

  
  


With a grunt, Noctis lunges forward and uses the momentum to drive the lance into the opening left by Gladio’s swing. Light reflects on the metal of the weapon, shining, before Noctis changes the trajectory and tips the weight to the side as Gladio – quick on his feet – lets go of the broadsword – the blade clattering - and skirts away from the sharp end, rolling into a crouch and grabbing the hilt once more. Noctis curses, he’ll always be confused at how fast Gladio could be for a man of his size, and jumps back as his Shield sweeps at his feet with the gold-lined sword. It swipes at air, hissing, and Noctis briefly raises an arm to wipe at the sweat falling into his eyes.

The brief moment of respite evaporated in half a second as Gladio rushes at him – unrelenting – and Noctis brings the lance up and stops the downward cut of the greatsword bearing down on him with gritted teeth. The shock runs through the steel and up his arms and the muscles  _ burn  _ but, damn it, he’s not going to let something like this take him down. Teeth gnashing so hard that he’s starting to see stars, he arranges his footing and funnels all his strength into pushing the blade back.

The opening was small – just a few centimeters off the top of his head – but it was enough. As Gladio returns to bear the sword down on him, Noctis pushes it back up and – with the forward thrust of his body – bends his knees, ramming his shoulder into his Shield’s sternum.

The movement was a surprise, he could hear it in the sucked-in breath of air from his Shield as the force cuts his breathing short, but Gladio was always far too responsive and resilient and Noctis can already see him recovering, plotting for a counterattack at Noctis. He jumps back, lets the weight of the spear bring him around and – in a mirror of what Gladio had done earlier – swipes at him with it.

His Shield falls into a crouch and rolls to the side, avoiding the weapon. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face, and his braid is hanging over his shoulder. Noctis allows a small grin to make its way up his mouth.

Gladio stands, raising the blade to rest the guard on his shoulder. His eyes rake over Noctis for a moment – taking in the scrapes for anything serious – before the concerned amber gaze flashes back to their assessing state. “Tired already, Noct?”

“Fuck you,” Noctis answers back, adjusting the grip on the lance, letting the tip rest on the stone ground. He’s panting, and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably but he hasn’t felt this exhilarated in a really long while. He’s missed it.

His Shield and lover smirks at him, not missing the chance for a joke. “I thought we just did?”

Rolling his eyes, Noctis sets the other end of the lance rest on the ground and lets himself rest against it. “You’re funny. Real clown.”

Gladio raises a brow, the smug look still on his face. “Not as funny as your skill with a spear. I know you can do better than that, Noct.”

It’s not like Noctis doesn’t know that, but he’s always had more skill with a sword than a spear. Still, that didn’t mean shit. You can’t always find a sword when you need one most. Better to know how to use anything to survive.

It wasn’t like he needed to learn everything in one swoop, but it was better to know and, now that he had all the time in the world for it, might as well start using some of that time.

He straightens his back, holding the spear towards Gladio in a single grasp. The weapon is heavy, but it was nothing new to him. He lets the familiarity of it – the sweat on his brow and the burn in his muscles, reminding him of so many training sessions from long ago – swirl around him, kicking the adrenaline up. Without a sound, he flashes forward – picking up his speed. It was weird, if not challenging, relearning how to use a weapon without the added advantage of his warp magic. He can’t just throw his spear or use his sword to launch himself from different directions now, altering time and space and allowing him to appear almost anywhere. He’s starting from ground zero now, learning how to wield a weapon like any ordinary person. No more theatrical acrobatics, too. 

Gladio seemed to have adjusted to it, intimately familiar with the feel of his sword and no longer relying on the steps and the maneuvers he used to do when he could summon his greatsword anywhere. It was a given, though. His Shield had more time to practice and get used to it – and you don’t become the Grandmaster of the Hunters by smiling prettily. Still, Noctis wasn’t a quitter. He braved a continent with nothing but a flimsy coat and pure, desperate hope.

A spear was nothing.

He does a few consecutive jabs at Gladio, keeping him away. The thing with spears – they’re pretty long. Using them effectively means keeping a bit of distance from your opponents, making sure that they won’t slip past the openings and come at you from point-blank range, unless you’re carrying a knife somewhere you could use to parry off close-quarter attacks. He knows Gladio won’t let him play the keep-away game for long – with his size, physique and the huge-ass sword he carries around like it’s nothing, it’ll only be a matter of time before his Shield catches a second of a window and give Noctis a royal thrashing.

Amber-gold eyes follow his movements, unflinching, and the seriousness in them has warmth pooling in Noctis’ stomach. Still, Gladio can be pretty unyielding when it comes to training and he can’t afford to be distracted by his Shield’s handsome looks right now – maybe later.

Another jab and Gladio rushes forward, the flat side of his weapon thrust out like a shield before him. Noctis’ jabs hit steel and he grits his teeth at the jar his limbs make but powers through, keeping his distance as Gladio—

His Shield hooks the swordguard under the curve of the shaft and wrests it away from him. The added pull of Gladio’s sword lashes against his arm and Noctis curses as the sharp end is pulled to point somewhere over his Shield’s shoulder and the momentum has him tumbling into Gladio—

Who uses his shoulder to ram against him, a mirror of Noctis’ own move.

Of course, considering Gladio’s glacier of a size to Noctis, who excelled in speed than strength, he ends up on the ground with the breath gone from his lungs. A clatter of steel and his spear is on the floor next to him.

A hand on his hip and the other on the hilt of the sword, Gladio grins at him from above. “Two out of three, the results are clear.”

Noctis gives him a dirty look, pushing the hair away from his sweaty face. “Yeah, yeah, shut it or I’ll make you shut up.”

“That would have been far more effective if you weren’t flat on the ground, my love.” Gladio retorts, tilting his head, the light of humor in his eyes. Noctis furrows his brows and screws his lips into a grimace even if he can feel his cheeks reddening somewhat.

Noctis doesn’t have a response to that, other than a few mumbled curses under his breath that has Gladio chuckling – a warm, raspy sound that always has Noctis smiling, even if a little unwillingly. His Shield wipes his hands on the back of his jeans and extends his right to Noctis, palms open and smiling fondly at him.

He ignores the red of his cheeks and allows himself to grab hold of the offered hand—

Gladio pulls him up and close, the other on Noctis’ waist and the smile on his face is crooked and fond, a faint smugness in them and Noctis raises a brow and smiles sweetly at him—

Before hooking his leg under one of Gladio’s knees, pulling it while using his weight to drive into Gladio’s, the man’s eyes widening in split-second alarm, before they’re both on the ground, Noctis on top of Gladio.

“Look who’s on the ground now,  _ my love.”  _ He’s not going to deny it – he can be cheeky if he wants to, and can play dirty if the situation calls for it. Looking at the surprise on Gladio’s face turn to consternation and to fondness, Noctis knows it’s not an issue. Gladio’s trained him to be a survivor and he was – is – and Noctis wasn’t above using what it takes to win.

His Shield isn’t particularly put out by his surprise move, if the warm hand on his waist, caressing the skin under his shirt, is any indication. Noctis, of course, lets a moment to be oblivious until he takes note of their, well,  _ compromising  _ positions and his cheeks redden all the more.

The smirk on Gladio’s face is not helping. “What?”

His Shield’s eyes rake over his form – running over the small bruises and the hair stuck to his sweaty skin. Noctis can never stop feeling so open and bare when Gladio looks at him like this, as if noting every nuance of him – every little patch of who he was – and view it all through thick-colored lenses of concern and appreciation. It’s been almost a year since he had come back, but every time he sees all that – vulnerable and open – in his Shield and lover’s eyes, it’s – fuck, call him  _ cliché  _ but – as if it’s the first time all over again.

He remembers the words they’ve shared, all the hidden and suppressed thoughts they kept under lock and key, and if they were to be believed, Noctis knows it’s always been like that since the very beginning.

There’s also the feel of Gladio’s thumb grazing the crease of his waist – trailing fire and static under his skin and Noctis is very aware of their tangled legs and the press of his groin against Gladio’s. All in all, a horrible-but-not-really-horrible situation to be in, especially with Gladio looking at him with those eyes.

Noctis knows that he doesn’t look any better – he was never good at hiding his emotions, knows that it’s all painted on his face in bright red ink. It was something most of his father’s advisors despaired of him, then, at how easy it was to play him for a fool or for a fall, knowing that his weaknesses were laid bare before everyone. But – when it comes to the people that mattered, when it comes to them, it has never been an issue of hiding. With his friends, he never needed to play the stone-cold prince card.

And with Gladio – he knew that he could be as honest as he could.

He could be honest with how he knows his own eyes are soft as he takes in his Shield’s face, with how he braids Gladio’s long hair with deft fingers after Iris had managed to whack that particular skill into them in the last eleven months, with how his heart is laid open without a single, spoken word.

“You’ve improved. Somewhat. Just need to be a bit sturdier.” Gladio answers him – and it takes Noctis a moment to remember that he had asked a question in the first place – and the man’s smile is one-part fond, and completely mischievous.

“I’ll show you sturdy.” Noctis throws back, the connotation of what he just said sinking in a second after as Gladio grips his hips tighter, the amber-gold gleaming hotly. 

He doesn’t know what he’s about to do – if he’s going to stare back at Gladio, or do put his hand up to run down that cheek, maybe bend down to give his lover and boyfriend (and soulmate) a kiss – but he’s not given enough opportunity to do anything as a whistle runs through the air, and he turns his head to see Prompto entering the training grounds.

Gladio grunts a greeting and Noctis manages to get one out, his face bright red. He rises, letting Gladio sit up and stretch his arms now that he wasn’t flat on the ground after a surprise attack, his braid hanging over his shoulder as one corner of his lips tilt up at Prompto’s wave.

“Have you guys had lunch yet?” The blond asks, arms crossed over his chest, one hand gripping his phone. A wind rushes by, and the ends of Prompto’s hair dance a bit. Noctis shakes his head, standing to the side as Gladio rises to his feet, picking his sword up in the process. 

“You have a place in mind?” Noctis asks, bending to grab his spear and holding out to Gladio’s expecting hand, watching his Shield walk away to store the weapons.

“I was thinking we could buy some from the market and have lunch in Ignis’ office. He’s got  _ paperwork _ to do, apparently.” Prompto says, making a face at the idea of office work. Noctis grins at him, his eyes flitting to the side for a moment as Gladio returns, handing him a towel.

“The man doesn’t know when to take a break until he keels over,” Gladio grouses, his own towel slung over his shoulder. Prompto nods from the side, a fond look on his face, even if it’s a bit frustrated. Noctis can’t fault them both – Ignis can be far too serious, at times.

Sometimes, people are wired that way, though. He can still remember Ignis’ confession – on the day Noctis had arrived in Lestallum after almost a decade of being gone. He can still remember the tear-stained sorrow and the desperation, the bitter regrets. It’s not like Noctis doesn’t know how that feels – how regrets and missed chances can burrow and fester deep in you. It had almost been a certainty for him, had he allowed it to take root and grow, but the last eleven months had slowly scraped the worst of those impulses out. He’s focusing on the future, towards the distance, and Shiva’s mark on his chest reminds him that there no longer was time for regrets.

They leave the training grounds, his arm over Prompto’s shoulders and Gladio’s hand on the small of his back, and he looks up at the sky – heavenly blue and bright. The birdcalls echo in his ears, and the beating of his heart follows after, just half a step late.

∞

Moving through the crowds of Lestallum – for once, unrecognized – was something Noctis will never not appreciate. There’s a certain easiness to just walking about the market, accidentally bumping into another person and getting a distracted ‘sorry’ out of it without the need to bow or kneel. When he’s just sliding in between people, the scents and sounds of the busy market area surrounding him, it just drives the fact deeper that he doesn’t have to hurry anymore. There’s no clock ticking somewhere with his name on it, the red hand racing down to zero.

“Are you getting some of those?” Prompto asked, pointing to a stall where grilled fish was being prepared, the stall owner stuffing herbs and spices in the belly and tying it close with thread. There were some that have already been cooked beforehand, the delicious skewered meals placed on handles next to the griller.

Noctis reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet – one of Ignis’ old ones that he had kept around – and checks inside, counting the gil from his last pay. After making it back to Lestallum, Noctis knew he couldn’t just rely on the generosity of his friends – even if Ignis and Gladio were extremely adamant on the idea. It wasn’t just about the money – sure, it helps and he knows he’s going to need it to, well, _live_ but it was also for direction. Ever since he was young, it’s as if he’s always known that he was bound to live for his kingdom – there had been nothing past the idea of a marriage and wearing the crown. When he had been promised to Luna, it was as if the future past that line was blurred. He was going to Altissia to get married to a childhood friend he hadn’t seen in _years_ and…that was it. Probably pop out an heir or two, do some charitable visits, smile at celebrating crowds, all of those were part and parcel of what it means to be one half of a royal couple. Yet, there was nothing to set him once that future had been lit aflame by Ardyn. No goals, no direction, nothing waiting for him. Now was different. Now, he had been given another life – by Luna, no less. Now, it was _his_ to decide.

Being a hunter now was, well, it wasn’t different than how it was back then, before the Long Night. The biggest change, of course, was that there were no more daemons to hunt after. Without the Starscourge, every trace of daemonic activity had long disappeared. In the last nine years, not a single thing remained of them.

Even the beasts – once aggressive and territorial – had returned to their docile natures once the Starscourge had gone, no longer affecting the wildlife.

In the new Duscae Republic – as most people would call it now, Insomnia and the Kingdom of Lucis being allusions to long gone ages – the hunters were the police force. It hadn’t always been that way, though. In the wake of the Long Night’s end and the return of the sun, there had been no standing government – just a bunch of survivors and refugees banding together to eke out one more night out of another. He remembers Ignis and Gladio telling him that. Sometimes, in the aftermath of disaster, people have a tendency to fall into infighting over whatever resources are left.

With the hunters being the stalwart guards of Lestallum as one of the last bastions of humanity, it naturally fell to them to police the grounds of rebuilding. Slowly, over time, they became the peacekeepers of society – in all but name.

“Some are thinking of renaming the hunters into the Guardian Corps,” Gladio told him, once. They were lounging in the living room –  _ their _ living room (Noctis notes, his heart beating fast and his lips threatening to break out in a huge smile) – his face pressed against his Shield and lover’s neck, the large arm around his shoulder and the amber light of the lit fireplace reflecting off the clear glass on the table. Gladio chuckled, and Noctis could feel it against his chest. “Sounds like a videogame name, if you ask me.”

Mostly, he’s been doing guard duty. At first, the rest of the guys had protested. They wouldn’t allow Noctis standing guard for hours on end in different parts of the city, if not the region, away from them. He had been ready to argue for it – even if they had reasoned for his own protection, nobody chases after dead kings, after all. Noctis didn’t want to spend the rest of this new life cloistered and hidden like a prized toy brought out only for display. He wanted to  _ live.  _ He wanted to get to know people. He wanted to explore.

A compromise was met – Noctis can still work for the hunters and do guard duty but as the permanent guard of the Grandmaster. He grins, the irony not lost on him as he’s effectively become the shield of his Shield.

He hands over some of the cash to the stall owner, grabbing the fish wrapped in paper. The scent of the grilled meat and the herbs has his stomach rumbling and Noctis turns his head just in time as Gladio walks up to them, bringing his own purchase. “Ready?”

A raised thumb from Prompto and they slowly made their way back to the city hall, Noctis making sure to stick to Gladio’s side as he would a proper guard. Well, it wasn’t like Gladio couldn’t defend himself – even without the weight of the greatsword on his back, those muscles weren’t there just for display. The shortknife hanging from his belt wasn’t too shabby, either.

It still took some time getting used to Lestallum, at the now-tall towers that were slowly being repaired and renovated. The walls covering the Duscaean landscape had become a permanent fixture, but Ignis was planning to add railings and certain viewing areas for tourists. Lake Cauthess in the distance and the rushing blue waters of the Taelpar Crag were sights to behold, especially in the morning light.

A few vendors were selling their products on the side of the streets, and Noctis spies a few establishments with their doors open, their items on display. With more people in Lestallum, the business had grown and, well, it was hard to ignore the subtle remnants of old Insomnian cityscape in how many shops and stores there were, now.

The two guards at the front of the city hall entrance saluted Gladio and Noctis stands in attention as his Shield adjusted the package in his hand and returned the salute. The two guards nodded at Prompto and one even smiled at Noctis – after he had been inducted as a full-fledged hunter and as the Grandmaster’s guard, the rest had stopped looking at him in suspicion. It was unavoidable – he was practically a stranger with full, uncontested access to both the President and the Grandmaster and nothing to show for it. Now that he’s one of them, they’ve become a bit more welcoming.

Well, that was also after he passed the initiation – which meant besting another hunter in a fight. It was close, but Noctis did manage. It wasn’t like he was trained by their own Grandmaster. Nope.

Making their way down the hall to the Presidential Office, Noctis has to hide a smile at how many of the other civil employees skirted around them, especially at the sight of Gladio up front. When he’s not smiling with those pretty lips of his, in spite of how handsome he is, he can still be a pretty scary sight, and the scars on his face doesn’t help. Prompto shines, though, having grown familiar to most of the people here because of his relationship with Ignis. It wasn’t like they were hiding it but Ignis had always been strict on decorum, settling with an arm around Prompto’s shoulders in public. Everything else was behind close doors, open and visible only to Noctis and Gladio and the rest, like Iris and Talcott. Well, if Iris and Talcott can be pulled away from each other, anyway.

A guard allows them entry after saluting to Gladio and, when the lock clicks shut behind him, does Noctis walk forward of his own volition and place the packed food atop the nearest table. The scent had been distracting him, his stomach agreeing with his thoughts as he sinks into the cushion of the seat and groans. Gladio chuckles at him, placing what seems to be stir-fry vegetables in a plastic bowl next to the grilled fish. Noctis makes a face at it.

From beyond the antechamber, Noctis could hear Ignis talking to someone on the phone – voice low, words unhurried. He doesn’t really catch most of the conversation, distracted by the food on display. Prompto runs out of the office to grab a few utensils and Gladio sits next to him once the food has been set.

There’s the faint smell of sweat on him, but Noctis doesn’t really care as he lays his head against Gladio’s shoulder. His Shield’s hand falls over his atop his lap, entwining their fingers together, a large thumb brushing softly over the dull bruise on some of Noctis’ knuckles. They settle there, quietly, waiting for their friends – they’ve never really needed to cover the silence with words, and Noctis is familiar with how terrible they could be with the things they say. Gladio says more in the manner of his thumb running up his forearm, in the press of a chaste kiss against his forehead and the tilt of his smile against Noctis’ temple.

When he feels Gladio squeeze his fingers, Noctis turns his head up to smile at him. His Shield spends a moment looking at him, amber lined in the dark of his eyelashes, the specks of gold glinting like jewels in a rustic sea before he feels Gladio’s other hand rise to his cheek.

“Have you been sleeping well?” He asks and Noctis feels the soft pad of the thumb on the shadows underneath his eyes. They weren’t distinct, completely unnoticeable in a certain light, but they were there — obvious in the mornings when he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

Thing is - he still has nightmares. They don’t come often, not anymore, not when he has the scent of cedar and sandalwood to lull him into peaceful sleep, not when the lasting touch and warmth of Gladio’s arms around him keeps away the fears and terrors that lurk in the recesses  of his mind, but they’re still  _ there.  _ Sometimes, they come on nights where he doesn’t expect them — nights spent in a room before a fire, with Prompto’s chatter threading through the air and Ignis’ answering smiles glinting in the amberlight. Sometimes, they wait at the end of a long line of memories, in the moments where he remembers the frost and the ice and the fear of death and he can’t help but gasp and breathe warm air into his hands, haunted by the memory of a blanket of never ending,  _ limitless  _ ice. On other days, they replay the memory of Luna’s fading smile as she is swallowed by a torrent of blue and black. In the moments before consciousness, that one sliver of a second before he’s awake, it shows him the look of betrayal on his father’s face as blood pools under his feet. In the moments Noctis allows himself to feel weak and wanting to surrender to the tempting desolation, it’s the ghost of his father plunging the sword into his chest.

Sometimes, the brand on his chest pulses and reminds him that he’s alive. Sometimes, Gladio’s heartbreakingly beatific smile mirrors the true sun rising beyond the horizon, and its golden glimmer fills his eyes.

“I have,” Noctis answers, voice low, counting the lashes and the specks of gold in warm-honey eyes. He loses count and starts over, again. It’s a blissful, repetitive torture, “on most nights. They don’t come that much, anymore.” He finishes, truthfully. Could never hide anything from his Shield and lover, anyway. Not like he needs to, Noctis thinks, as Gladio whispers ‘good’ to himself, in that raspy voice that slides down Noctis’ throat and into his heart.

Prompto returns a few moments after that, and Noctis can’t help but smile at the pout on Gladio’s face as he stands and leaves the cage of his Shield’s arms, helping the blond with arranging the food on the makeshift dining table - which was actually Talcott’s little desk whenever he was actually around to use it. Gladio finally rises from the couch and makes his way into the den of the office, and Noctis hears him talk to Ignis about lunch and work. Ignis responds with something along the lines of more reports to do but is subdued and overpowered by Gladio basically ordering him to eat.

It’s funny — he never expected a role reversal when it comes to those two, with Gladio being a mother hen.

Ignis walks in after his Shield, carrying a bunch of papers in one hand while the other reaches for the back of the chair nearest to his office. Prompto settles across Noctis and Gladio takes the remaining seat, his back to the window and giving him ample view of the doorway. He also doesn’t miss how Gladio’s form blocks him from the window and from sight.

Noctis turns to Ignis, his free hand squeezing Gladio’s knee under the table in gratitude. The President - and isn’t that a mouthful in Noctis’ own lips - sets the paper on the corner of the table before turning to Noctis, milky-grey eyes looking at his own and even if they can no longer see, Noctis is sure that Ignis can still see through him. Prompto and Gladio begin to eat, slowly piling food on their plates. Noctis lets them go at it first, a bit distracted at the intent way Ignis was looking at him.

Confused, Noctis raises a brow. “What is it, Iggy?”

His former advisor doesn’t answer right away, remains steadfast silent in his seat. There’s a line of tension to his shoulders, and the subtle movement of his jaw has Noctis realizing that Ignis had been gritting his teeth hard. His eyes travel down his arm, to the bare hands and the neat cut of his fingernails, to the pile of papers under them. They’re not pristine - they have dents and some parts look crumpled, as if Ignis had been holding on to them tightly. A slight rattle as his eyes running down Ignis’ waist, where his other hand is gripping the hilt of his chained daggers tightly.

It was unusual to see Ignis like this. Considering the past almost-decade, Noctis can’t really say that he and his friends  _ haven’t  _ changed. They all have, it was impossible not to after all the trauma and death. Still, it’s been a while since he had last seen Ignis this unbearably tense.

When Ignis still refused to answer, the sound of utensils ceased and Noctis turns to find Gladio and Prompto had stopped eating to look at them in concern. Noctis raises a shoulder at his Shield in a shrug. “Iggy?”

As if it had been the word he was looking for, the tension in Ignis’ entire body disappears and the man lets out a troubled sigh, before bunching the papers up and handing them to Noctis. Feeling lost, Noctis took hold of the documents and watched as Prompto raised his hand to grasp at Ignis’ resting on the corner, a silent question of concern before Ignis slowly nodded at the blond.

Turning back to Noctis, Ignis gestured for him to read them, his voice quiet and distressed. “Iris sent word regarding Olympus. She says that she hasn’t received a single transmission from the platoon assigned there, together with the research team.”

“Okay,” Noctis voices out, still a bit confused. It could have been a communication issue, then. From what he’s been told, reception was poor in those new regions - he’s not surprised, he remembers the vision Shiva showed him of Titan raising new lands to the surface.

Ignis bites his lower lip. “She says it’s been almost a month, and even Talcott is getting worried. He and Dr. Sania know their people - it’s out of character for a scientific expedition not to send word especially on research being conducted in the archaeological sites.”

“Send a search team. There must have been an accident or something. Iris handles the western command, she knows what she’s doing.” Gladio supplies, frowning. Noctis agrees with him.

“They’re short on manpower for now,” Iggy continues, still looking at Noctis, “as her men are spread around Cleigne but she will be able to secure a retinue before end of week.”

“That’s good, then, right?” Noctis asks, turning his head from Ignis to Gladio. His Shield is still frowning, staring intently at Ignis.

“That’s not what got you worried, Iggy.” In fairness to Ignis, he doesn’t flinch at the sound of Gladio’s flat tone. He does breathe out and gestures at the papers in Noctis’ hand, though.

Brows furrowed, Noctis looks down and realizes it’s a military report...from Aranea Highwind. There’s a lot of jargon on it, encoded and printed out beneath the tiny raised nubs in patterned display - braille, a way for the blind to read by feeling the raised nubs with their hands - and Noctis admits that it’s not something he can easily make heads or tails of. From what he can understand, it’s a detailed report on a number of soldiers that were tagged either missing or killed in action in exploration expeditions on Terra, the new region south of Gralea. There’s a list of names of the soldiers and hunter that had gone missing - W., Blaise; M., Draco; V., Vincent; A., Morrigan; - and some of the hunters whose bodies have been found. Apparently, mangled and torn apart.

It was disgusting, that much Noctis can glean, but doesn’t really explain anything - could have been the work of wild animals—

“Aranea had her own research team investigate the condition of the corpses that were found,” Ignis continues, and Noctis takes note of the bugged-out look on Prompto’s face. He returns his gaze to the papers below and continues reading as his former advisor narrates. “To sum it up, her team states that the manner the bodies were left in was not conclusive for aggressive wildlife behavior. Most of the creatures residing in Terra are herbivorous, and if there are carnivorous ones, they were too small to attack humans. Basing on the research available to a former Imperial commodore, they ended at a different conclusion…”

Noctis starts losing track of what Ignis is saying as he takes in the words he’s reading -

_ Diagonal evisceration marks on the subject’s upper chest cavity seems to point towards bladed weaponry, however near-cauterized condition means that said weapon must have been heated to a temperature of— _

_ — the jugular vein seems to have been damaged severely. Multiple traces of bite marks surrounding the jaw and neck point towards an attack from multiple aggressors, and basing on the size of the incisions, these aggressors possess even rows of teeth. _

_ Evidence of lacerations and scratch marks on the subject’s temples and forehead points to distressed behavior. Samples of blood detected underneath the fingernails matched the subject’s blood sample. From this, we’ve gathered that the subject scratched himself until he bled to death— _

_ Multiple studies on the corpses have proven that no wildlife in Terra can be matched towards the aggression displayed on the subjects. Basing on previous research, we can only gather - due to nigh undeniable similarity or until proven otherwise - these actions may have been caused by a— _

Noctis doesn’t realize that he’s gripped the papers so hard that he accidentally tears them a bit. His body is tense, not a single muscle is relaxed as the words sink in and the lurking terrors of his nightmares return, their intensity ten-fold. The glass next to him falls and shatters as Ignis’ words reach his ears.

“They report that the soldiers were killed by daemons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> presage:  
> 1\. an omen or portent  
> 2\. a sign that something bad is about to happen
> 
> Lore:  
> A. Olympus - unknown region off the west coast of Lucis  
> B. Terra - unknown region off the south coast of Gralea
> 
> So, there we go. As you may have noticed, it's not as lengthy as Calvary was since this is more plot-oriented, but I'm also in the belief that most adventure fics work because they take time to develop and set the plot in. Plus, basing on experience, I feel that shorter chapters means faster updates, and won't have me burning out like what Calvary did to me lol


	3. II: contrived coincidences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more lore-drop, plot-movement and, oh, Gladio POV!

**CHAPTER II: contrived coincidences**

* * *

 

 

 

When Ignis mutters the words, voice raspy and strained, Gladio only has a moment to freeze and still, to feel his insides turn to cold, before the sound of glass breaking has him turning his eyes to Noctis. His King had stood, the papers crumpled in his hand – blue eyes swathed in snippets of fear, disbelief – and it was instinct alone that had Gladio standing right after, hand already gripping his lover’s shoulder. The line of muscle was tense, stone-still, and Gladio feels his heart drop at wide-eyed gaze that moves to him the moment he touched Noctis.

There were so many emotions swimming in those eyes, some of them too fast for Gladio to catch, for him not to be distracted by the myriad shades of blue in those eyes. Even then, when Noctis was younger – when they were all younger – Gladio had always been drawn to those eyes, so open and expressive and vulnerable. It was unlike the way his father and King Regis looked, too guarded and cold and impersonal, save for the slight trace of warmth in Clarus’. Noctis, though – Noctis had always been to open, and even more so when it comes to Gladio, who couldn’t help the fact that his heart beat faster when he entertained the idea of his then-prince so willing to let down his fragile walls around him.

It was a two-way window, Gladio now realizes. The grief, the horror – the sheer disbelief – shone brightly in the way those eyes flick towards him, as they take in the details of his Shield’s face. The way Noctis’ lip trembled as the papers in his hand crumpled all the more. Gladio doesn’t need to read it to know what information it holds, recognizing Aranea’s seal on the upper right corner of the document.

As if Ignis’ words finally took root, Noctis’ shoulders did a little spasm, like a shiver running up his spine beyond his control and Gladio could feel it, his fingers pressing into the muscle of his King’s shoulder and trying to ease and soften, wanting more than anything to pick him up and fold him into Gladio’s chest.

“That’s—“ Noctis croaks, voice hollow, unfocused eyes moving from him to Prompto then back to Ignis. “That’s not funny, Iggy. Impossible.” A low chuckle – it held none of the warmth and the humor that Noctis tried so hard to hide, it was empty – and the tilt of his lips painted a smile that seemed more of a grimace than anything else. His eyes gestured for them to deliver the punchline, the end of a bad joke. The gesture wasn’t as confident as Noctis would like them to believe, his fears belied by the way the papers in his fist continued to tremble.

Ignis remained silent, just as tense as Noctis, the worry rolling off him in waves. Noctis began to tremble under Gladio’s hold and the Shield swallowed, not realizing his mouth had dried, before attempting to speak. “Has this been confirmed, Iggy?”

Prompto was silent, had stood as well, and his fingers were biting into the utensils in his grasp. Gladio doesn’t let himself surrender to the throb of the panic underneath, he has to be focused. He has to be logical, someone has to be.

Perhaps, it was misidentification. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility – in the aftermath of the Long Night, during the recovery efforts, there had been so many faux cases of possible daemon attacks. What had been the results of violent animal incursions had inexperienced hunters who couldn’t tell a bulette-bite mark from an iron giant’s slash spreading the wrong information – believing that daemons had returned. In the months after the light came back, the rumors had gotten so widespread that mass hysteria was almost a definite conclusion. If not for the actions of Ignis, together with Talcott and Dr. Sania in educating people and the remainder of Aranea and Cor’s military forces keeping order, everything would have gone to hell, and right after ten years of tragedy.

There was also the possibility of it being a prank. Cruel, insanely so, but possible. Gladio was old enough to realize that people weren’t always kind and good. He knows, intimately, how some can be vicious if they want to – that they make the choice to be like that – and it’s not improbable for this to be one giant mess because someone was sadistic enough to want to cause terror in people. He knows it’s not always one person to blame. Sometimes, it’s the way they were brought up. Sometimes, it’s because of the way their body chemicals are wired. Nature versus nurture, so to speak. Not everything is black and white.

Regardless, whatever the reason may be, Gladio’s priority here was to be a voice of reason. Ignis always took that role but Gladio knows that all four of them had their lapses, their weaknesses that made them all the more human. Ignis wasn’t always perfect – Gladio didn’t really notice it then, but ever since that fateful day in Altissia and the trial of Leviathan, that careless, almost frenzied streak he saw in their constantly stoic friend scared him. Even the memory of Ignis risking it all – his entire life – and almost dying in the process, his vision burned out as the price for using the Ring of the Lucii’s powers, still had Gladio breaking in a cold sweat, sometimes. It was impossible to gloss over those details with his treasured memories of their childhood – as much as he had wanted then to recall the easiness of their younger years in school, Gladio can’t help but think that it was also good they had to go through all those tragedies, if only because it made them stronger in the long run.

The barcode on Prompto’s wrist lay uncovered as he reaches out to hold Ignis’ hand, and Gladio can’t help but feel proud of him…of all of them.

“Aranea herself signed the documents.” Ignis responded tersely, and Gladio grunted. If the former Imperial commodore actually took the time to approve the documents and not one of her subordinates Biggs and Wedge, then it can’t be anything else but true. He knows Aranea; in spite of her flirtatious nature, he knows that there’s a knife-sharp intellect and a keen instinct in those grey eyes, on top of the elite dragoon training. You don’t get to the upper echelons of a military regime and _staying_ there by being nice. “An entire platoon had gone missing.”

“Shit.” Noctis bites out, trembling. “Shit.”

“Noct,” He says, quietly, tries to be soothing for his King. There’s a tenuous line there – can easily be broken – but Noctis staying strong. He has been, for so long. Gladio will never know how it feels, what Noctis had gone through. The best he can do is be there, now. As helpless as it makes him feel, Gladio knows that it’s the only thing he _can_ do.

“This isn’t s’posed to happen!” Noctis doesn’t shout, but his voice does break at the last syllable. The trembling returns but he doesn’t shrug Gladio’s hand away. That’s good, at least. Noctis and Gladio shared the same temperament – they were easily triggered, Gladio knows that and he’s guilty for it – but Noctis isn’t keeping it to himself, locking everybody else out. “This was—this shouldn’t. Fuck.”

His eyes are glossed, but no tears spill. It’s not sadness in them, anyway. It’s fear and anger.

“Hey, just relax, buddy.” Prompto tries but his voice is high and reedy. It sounds unsure, just like how the rest of them are feeling. “Aranea could be wrong. Nobody’s perfect.”

It was a flimsy excuse, that Gladio knew, but hope can be difficult to build sometimes. The first few years after Noctis’ ‘death’ viscerally taught him that.

His King doesn’t really loosen up at Prompto’s words, but he does stop biting his lip. His eyes are still unfocused, lost in things – maybe the past, memories that Gladio will never know – and it takes a while, just Gladio repeating his name before he nods and breathes deeply. “Okay. I’m fine.”

He’s not, Gladio knows. The fact that Noctis tries, though, has his chest aching with an oh-so familiar weight.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis’ words are said in a low tone, but the worry and the regret is there. Noctis turns to him and gives him a sad smile, even if the former advisor can’t see it anymore. “It’s an upsetting report but it’s what we have, right now. I’ll ask Aranea to look into it more, and tap Talcott’s research team and have them assist her.”

If there’s one thing that remained steadfast when it came to Ignis, it was his honesty. Gladio agrees, looking at Prompto. The blond was still worried, they all were, as he faces Noctis but he nods all the same and resumes his seat. Ignis doesn’t follow after, as if waiting for the rest to take their seats.

Gladio moves his hand from Noctis’ shoulder to the small of his back, keeping his touch light in case it was unwanted. As if noting the direction of his thoughts, Noctis leans a bit against his hand and into Gladio’s space, and the Shield starts lowering himself back to his seat. His King follows him, and when he’s back in his seat, he grabs hold of Gladio’s hand – tight.

How many times – he can’t count how many times he’s wanted this, the comfort to hold Noctis’ hand, to grasp those fingers and keep them warm and pull his then-prince and King into his hold and never let go. What he thought had been childish affection, the unspoken line between friendship and fondness blurred in childhood, had not disappeared as they grew older, but _intensified._ Watching Noctis grow up, changing, from that timid boy who hid behind his father’s leg into a quiet, still sullen teenager with a need to excel, to achieve and, after ten years of absence, returned to the world like the king he was – it was too much for him, too much that his lips slammed shut with all the things he wanted to say but can’t because he was terrified. All the regrets and the missed chances and the fantasies he’s played out in his heads – he once thought them useless. There was no possibility between them – he was a Shield and Noctis was his future King. Now, though – after everything – he still can’t believe it—

—that he’s allowed to reach out and run his thumb down his cheek, that he’s allowed to hold that hand and press it against his chest, that he’s allowed to cup Noctis’ face and kiss him, funneling everything that he’s held close to his heart, over the fire of a wilting candle in a lifetime’s worth of darkness, into that one action.

He doesn’t really know if it’s true – if daemons have returned. A part of him doesn’t want to believe, doesn’t want to restart and relive the nightmare that had robbed him of so much and leaving him grasping at the sands of bitter regret. It’s not right, fucking unfair, for the world to go through that once more, to have all everything they’ve sacrificed to rebuild thrown to the wind and set aflame. He doesn’t know who to blame or what to do if that was the case – if it’s another ploy from the Astrals who have shown time and time again that they were fucking cruel or if it’s just life, if all the bullshit is just a cycle they’re all destined to repeat.

Looking at his King, now, at the way he held himself together, the way the light and focus returns to those eyes – eyes that he had spent so long fearing he’ll never see again, fearing he’ll never _remember_ how they looked, the regrets piling up until he’s ready to explode - if everything they feared was true, if the darkness was destined to return, then he’s keeping his promise this time.

He squeezes the hand in his. He’s not letting go of Noctis ever again.

∞

As much as Gladio would want to stick around Ignis’ office, he does have a job to do. It would be easy, to let go of the hunters and put all his focus back on that one singular duty of a Shield, to defend and guard his King. He wants to go back to that – to nothing but Noctis at the end of his vision – but doing so would mean letting the world know that the fabled King of Light had returned, and he can’t have that.

Not because he was selfish and he wants Noctis to himself – that one was particularly true and untrue at the same time, but because doing so would be painting a target on Noctis’ back. He wants the world to know how amazing Noctis was, wants everyone alive to know that the reason they’re able to stand and feel the sunlight on their face was because of the man he loves so fucking much – that he’s worth more than anything Gladio could think of – but he knows it’s not fair to do that to Noctis. His King never wanted the throne, never wanted the royal duty and this new life – this miracle, because there was no other way to describe it – was his chance at something he never had in the first place.

And he’s ready to admit that he’s a hundred percent selfish when it comes to Noctis.

So, he has to suck it up and do the job he’s been given. Leading an organization wasn’t something he ever thought he’d need to do, to be quite honest. That was one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of responsibilities he had to take over. He wasn’t trained to lead, to hold the lives of so many people on his shoulders, waking up every day with the terror that he’s failed, that he failed them all and he couldn’t do anything to fix it. The irony – the bitter, ugly irony – that he once had been frustrated, almost cruelly so, at Noctis for not being strong enough to handle the duties of kingship and realizing that the tables have now turned left a rotten taste in his mouth. Another line in a never ending tally of lines of the times he’s failed to be there for his King.

Still—

As Gladio heads to the hunter command in Lestallum, sitting in the backseat and Noctis driving—

It was hard to keep those ugly thoughts around when his eyes are trained on the way Noctis’ hair dances in the wind. It was so easy to reach out and run his fingers through his King’s hair, and he’ll know that Noctis loves that – that he’ll close his eyes and lean back and let Gladio run and lightly scratch at his scalp, can imagine the way those lips will curl up in a smile and those blue eyes darken to midnight, a tinge of red across his cheeks, a picturesque angel in repose – and nobody can fault him for wanting that, for wanting this amazing man that he has long pledged to live and die for, the man he was _born_ for.

Just the personification of everything good and kind and beautiful to him—

It’s not easy to hold himself back from just wrapping his arms around Noctis and having his way with him and letting the whole world know that his King was his and his _alone_ but he stops, has to put the more important thing above all else – which was Noctis’ safety. They’ll play the bodyguard game, let the people talk of Noctis as the bland shadow behind the Grandmaster. It’s just one more sacrifice for Gladio, and a sacrifice he’s all too willing to pay if it meant Noctis is out of danger’s reach.

Idealistic, maybe gullible and naïve as nobody is ever truly safe. You can’t protect everyone from everything, from the physical hurts and the fears and terrors – but he can work with what he has, and with everything he’s got, he’ll make sure that whoever or whatever tries to hurt his King and lover will have to get through him first.

They come up on the main building by the time it hits past two – back then, it used to be the Imperial fortress near Coernix Bypass but after the dawn had returned and once the hunters had enough numbers – and with Ignis’ new republic’ approval – they had demolished the remnants of the base. The walls were still there, a surviving relic from the Old War, but they had reconstructed the inside, turning it into a working headquarters and training grounds for new hunters.

There are a few trainees out on the field, the rangers on field barking orders and routines for them to do. There are a number of military jeeps parked next to theirs, from the officers in the area, and Gladio takes a moment to survey the trainees. He wasn’t wearing his uniform – just a simple, sleeveless tanktop, jeans and his boots – so most of the passing hunters weren’t quick to recognize him just yet. Noctis locks the car, and nods at him, trailing behind Gladio as he walks to the main entrance. Unlike him, his King was wearing the shirt with the hunter seal on the breast portion and upon recognizing Noctis, the other hunters realized who he was _with_ and stood, backs straight as they saluted him.

After making their way through the brightly-lit halls and the immaculately tiled floors – and stopping almost every other minute as the hunters all stand on attention when in the presence of their Grandmaster – Gladio and Noctis finally arrive at the head office. The hunter opens the door for them, and upon Gladio’s entrance, all heads swivel towards the door.

The highest-ranking officer salutes Gladio, before greeting them both. “Lord Amicitia, Noctis.”

“Hewley,” From beside him, Noctis nodded. After Gladio’s response, the rest of the officers in the room resumed their operations and he took the time to take note of the orderly traffic of the office. Back then, the hunters were just a civilian paramilitary organization, taking note of postings for hunts. Since then, they’ve extended to police work and securing the towns and cities around Lucis – many of the officers were assigned to different areas, not just in training but also in recruitment and administration, the organization’s own security and the financial aspects. Running a military force didn’t only mean banking on getting more people to train, but also meant expending money to pay for these people, find housing for them and maintaining the conditions of their system. “How’s the fort doing?”

“As well as can be, my lord,” Officer Hewley motioned to the busy work areas, gesturing with a large arm. The man was older, probably had ten or twenty years on Gladio but he didn’t look the part, his form still robust. Hewley is probably one of the few people who could give Gladio a run for his money when it comes to the skill of a greatsword, well, aside from his own sister that is. “It’s good to have you back here in Command, sir.”

There’s a line of mischief in the man’s eyes that had Gladio grinning. “Why is that, officer?”

Hewley’s lips were a flat line, but there was no denying the grin in his voice. “I don’t mean anything wrong by it, sir. Lady Amicitia’s handling of the base was perfect, as usual.”

“Let me guess, she trashed another training room while _practicing,_ didn’t she?” Gladio raised a brow, amused. Beside him, even if he couldn’t see, he was sure there was a smile on Noctis’ face. His sister can go a little…overboard, at times, when it comes to her training runs. Hewley’s silence only proved his point further. He patted the man on the shoulder before making his way into his personal office.

His personal office wasn’t anything glamorous. It was just a small room with his desk and the couch and a few bookshelves with a collection of the novels he’s picked up in his travels. It wasn’t so much as the minimalist décor of the room or the dark palettes used to paint it, but the idea that it was _his_ space. A sigh escapes his companion, and Gladio turns to find Noctis locking the door and – before he could even say something – his King had barreled into his chest, arms around Gladio’s waist and nose pressed against his sternum. Without hesitation, his hands fall to Noctis’ back, where he idly rubs at the tense muscle until he’s all that’s holding his King up.

“You okay?” He asks, keeping his voice low and can’t help but smile at the shudder Noctis tries so hard to suppress. There’s a moment of silence, where it’s just his King breathing against his chest and Gladio cherishing his closeness and warmth before Noctis slowly nods, pulling his face away from the cloth and looking up at him, eyes clear. “Good.”

Noctis opens his mouth, his lips make this weird movement, before he closes them and smiles crookedly at Gladio. “What?”

His King shakes his head. “Was about to say sorry, but then I remembered you hate it when I say that.”

The smile that comes up is pure and genuine, and he gives into the temptation of leaning down and taking Noctis into a kiss.

Kissing Noctis is—

There’s nothing to describe it, really.

Gladio will blame it on the novels he’s read, the gothic romances he always denies he loves to read, the clichéd stories of bard-kings and courtesans, of the tragic love affairs between knights and princesses—

Kissing Noctis is—

It’s like the feeling the sun on your skin after years of being cold, as if the taste of him was the vestiges of the sun trapped in the memories that have built up in the recesses of ice and despair. It’s not like anyone else and Gladio knows that—

He’s been with a lot of people, men and women, some for romance and others for pleasure but with Noctis, when it’s Noctis’ lips that he’s kissing—

It’s not just for the push and pull of their lips, or the thrill in his veins or the static pooling in his groin. There’s fire in Noctis’ touch, a tinge of light and grace that will never fail to fill Gladio with a burgeoning sense of hope – because kissing his King was like flying close to the sun and knowing it won’t burn you.

He leans down, one hand falling to his King’s rear and pulling him close, his lips part and allows Noctis’ tongue entry—

The tilt of his head, the angle just right as he moans lowly, taking all of Noctis in, the press of his King and lover’s fingers into the muscles of his shoulder blades. It was perfect, all of it. When he opens his eyes and they meet midnight blue, Gladio knows with a certainty that there will never be room for anyone else but Noctis.

“I love you,” he says – the moment they break apart, the distance between them almost negligible – and it’s true. Noctis looks at him, emotions flashing past the blue – affection, happiness, maybe a slight tinge of sadness perhaps – before he blinks a few times, his eyes shining. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”

“I know.” His King answers, and Gladio remembers the first time they had said those words – the day his King came back to his life, in the soft firelight in his living room, a mirror of their exchanges. A day in Gladio’s life that he’d pay _anything_ to play over and over again. “I love you, too.”

The moment doesn’t long, and they slowly disentangle themselves from each other, just in time as someone knocks on his door. Noctis gives him a smile, the light back in his eyes, as he walks to the door and peeks through the eyehole before opening it, nodding at Hewley. Gladio nods at him, hoping he doesn’t look any different – Noctis’ lips are a bit redder than usual.

“Caem would like us to patch them through your line, sir. I sent word to Lady Amicitia that you have arrived at the office.”

Gladio nods, and turns to his desk just as Noctis closes the door after Hewley’s departure. He takes a seat as Noctis takes position behind him, the monitor display of the phone lighting up and a shrill ring following after. He presses in his credentials and watches as the monitor changes to display Iris from her office in the Caem command center.

“Gladdy!” She calls, her voice cracking a bit through the speaker. His sister raises a hand to wave at them, and her smile grows smaller as she looks at his – no, _their_ King, her eyes just a bit sadder. “Noct. How are you guys?”

Other than Ignis and Prompto, only a few select people knew of Noctis coming back, and moreso at their relationship. Iris had been one of the first few to know, after Cindy and Cid, and her smile could be seen from Lestallum to Gralea. He remembers how she used to have the biggest, most obvious crush on Noctis – something about the idea of both Amicitias attracted to their prince and King has him smiling – and how she couldn’t even look him in the eye for more than five minutes before flustering. His sister had grown, matured.

The brightness was still there, if a little subdued. Guess the same could be said with everyone who survived. She had grown stronger, more independent, less _attached_ to people. She still had that trademark Amicitia energy and temper, though, if his suspicions regarding a broken training room is to be believed. Not to mention the strength. Even through the screen, he could see the hilt of her own greatsword settled next to her seat.

“Doin’ well,” Noct answers from the side, and he moves to rest his hip against the arm of Gladio’s chair. “Turns out some people are happy you’re not here anymore.”

The twitch of her eyebrow was obvious as her eyes flash with rage for a moment before she sighs, running her fingers through the dark hair down the right side of her face. The left side had been shorn, leaving her scalp bare where a tattoo of a raven ran from temple to nape. A new cartilage piercing glinted as she turns to set some documents off to the side of her desk. “Why don’t you give me some names and I’ll schedule a personal appointment with them, Noct?”

Gladio grins at her. “I don’t think so, kid. It’s hard to find people to hire, nowadays. Can’t have them go missing.”

“Not my problem, Gladdy,” She says, a bit distractedly, as more documents are moved and the clacking sound of the keyboard could be heard in the distance. “Hate to cut to the chase, but Iggy told me that you both know the situation in Olympus already.”

They nodded at Iris. She hums for a bit, turning to the side and pulling the keyboard close so she could type – probably another report – before the printing machine next to Gladio’s phone started. “Alright, sent you more of the intel my men recovered from the last transmission we got.”

Gladio waits for the print to finish, setting it on the desk where Noctis could see without moving away from his side. It wasn’t a military report – Gladio was sure – it read more like a scientific journal, if a little archaeological. “This is about the ruins on Olympus.”

“Yup,” Iris agreed, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “this transmission was more than a month ago, when the team managed to get some headway on the excavation at the site. Turns out the ruins were _intact_ after Titan raised the earth. Talcott and his guys have been carbon-dating the shit—“Gladio grunts, a quiet ‘language’ thrown in between as he reads along, “and, guess what, the ruins have been there since before Solheim.”

“But there was nothing before?” Noctis supplies, frowning. “Wasn’t Solheim the _first_ civilization?”

Iris grins at him. “First civilization we _know_ of. There’s still a lot to Eos that we don’t know and it’s always possible that there must have been an earlier civilization before Solheim happened. Wasn’t that part of the legends? Solheim happened after Ifrit gave man fire, but what about before? Why give fire in the first place, anyway?”

The King shrugs at Iris’ questions – a bit of Talcott seeping into her voice. The kid’s love for history and science has obviously rubbed off well enough on her. He continues reading the documents, as the scientific team noted down the observations regarding the carved symbols into the walls of the ruins – an ancient script, obviously – and penned down hypotheses at how Solheim’s language might have developed from it.

More clacking sounds of the keyboard and Iris moves her chair closer to the screen, her face taking up most of it. “But that’s not everything. After the team managed to put an estimated age to the ruins, their contact log shows that they also reached out to their counterpart teams doing the same expeditions in Terra.”

“With Aranea’s men?” Gladio cuts in, looking up. He remembers the report Ignis was talking about just a few hours ago. Iris nodded, her amber-gold eyes – a mirror of Gladio’s – serious. “And?”

“Apparently, the ruins they found in Terra also had a similar estimation. Seems like both ruins were present at the same time from before Solheim.” She clears her throat, a bit of embarrassment on her face. “Well, it’s not as simple as that – plus Talcott can explain this better, anyway. It’s not the age of the ruins that worry me, it’s what on it.”

“What does that mean?”

The printing machine starts up, and another document arrives. “Sent you some of the images they managed to send back to us before we lost contact.”

Noctis grabs the sheet and holds it between him and Gladio, allowing the Shield to see. The image seemed to have been a cut off portion of a wall, where a series of images were carved into it in a series of columns and rows. He has no idea if it’s to be read horizontally or vertically, or what the images even mean. There were some he recognized, a bit, like a symbol in the shape of the sun or a bird. He can guess that language then wasn’t as _advanced_ as it was now, with the use of alphanumeric codes. People, then, used to write in symbols and each symbol didn’t necessarily mean a single word as they would an _idea_. The symbol in the shape of the sun may not mean the sun itself but perhaps morning or daytime, the bird could mean flight or perhaps an allusion to something – maybe freedom, or a deity.

“I don’t understand a single thing here, Iris.” Noctis says, voice flat. Gladio huffs in agreement.

“Same, here. Talcott’s team does, though. There’s a bunch of linguists and other people who could read that better than us stationed there with the rest of the expedition, and they had copies of what they managed to translate sent back to Caem.” Iris waved her hand at them. “What I sent you isn’t important, anyway. Just wanted to show you what the guys over there were working on before they disappeared on us.”

“Still no contact?” He asks, folding his arms as Noctis settles on the arm of the chair. Iris shakes her head. “Nope. Been a while now. We’re already preparing a recovery team, they’re ready to deploy at the end of the week and we’ll know what the fuck went on there.”

They’re quiet after that, with Iris typing on her computer while Noctis eyes the document with the markings. Gladio resumes reading the report. From what he could gather, the team in Olympus was already making some headway after managing to excavate what seemed to be three floors of the original ruin – which they hypothesized to be a temple – most of which had been buried under the earth.

“Guys,” They both look up at her, “we managed to backtrack the communications log, seems that the team in Terra was making the same progress and they found similar markings in the ruins there. That’s, well, a big coincidence, then.”

Gladio raises a brow, remembering what Noctis had said some time ago, when he had a vision of Shiva, that it was Titan who raised the lands. When it comes to the Astrals, everything was either coincidental or more magical bullshit.

“The Terra team had more success regarding the translation,” Iris continues – her eyes reading something off-screen. She frowned, the corner of her lips pulling down, “hey, Talcott left a note on some of these translations. Huh. Wait.”

The way she says the last word has both of them looking up at her, the single word spoken in a dark, stern tone. “What is it, kid?”

“My guys forwarded the translation logs to Talcott’s people first before sending it over to us, and he left some comments here.” Her brows are furrowed as she turns to them, her eyes hard. “From what they could gather, the markings are talking about daemons.”

The reports from this morning, coming from _Terra_ of all places, suddenly return to Gladio’s mind and he can feel Noctis freezing beside him. Gladio wasn’t any better, as his grip on the arm of the chair grew tighter. It can’t be possible – right? It just _can’t_ be. But—

It also can’t be coincidental. Not after this morning. Not after what Ignis had told them. It was too convenient, too _contrived._ If the drop of his gut or the hair on the back of his neck standing on end was any indication, his instincts were pointing towards one conclusion.

“What?” It takes a while for him to realize that the reedy, disbelieving voice was _his._

“Daemons,” Iris repeats, voice cold, “they’re – Talcott – not sure what the markings mean but he’s sure it means daemons. Apparently, the markings are similar to what Solheim used and what a lot of other languages copied soon after.”

“But—“ Noctis cuts in, voice oddly calm. Gladio turns his head to him and notes the hollow look in his eyes. “The daemons were because of the Starscourge. That happened after Solheim. Ifrit made the Starscourge.”

Iris takes a look at the document again before meeting Noctis’ gaze, head-on. “That doesn’t say anything about the Starscourge being the _only_ source of the daemons. There’s still a lot of things we don’t know about it – the Starscourge could possibly what made the daemons, but there’s also the possibility that it’s _not_ the only one.”

He knows Iris means well – she doesn’t intend to be cruel, least of all to someone like Noctis – but her words are straight and true, frank, because she’s always been the better Amicitia between the two of them, not willing to sugarcoat things. Noctis physically flinches at that, and it takes everything for Gladio not to pull him into his arms. He relents by holding Noctis’ hand, tight.

His sister looks repentant for a moment, her eyes sorry and her lips open as if to apologize, but she purses them shut and clears her throat. “Normally, I wouldn’t be worried about this. The past’s better left buried, anyway, but…you guys know about Terra, right? About Aranea’s soldiers?”

Noctis isn’t looking at her, his face is pointed towards the door and his hair gets in the way of Gladio’s view of his face. He nods at her, instead, running his thumb in circles over Noctis’ wrist. His King is still, his breathing forced, beside him.

As much as Gladio dislikes touching on the topic because of what it does to Noctis, he can’t help but agree with needing to talk about it. The coincidences were far too many for it to be considered as anything but coincidental. Something was going on, that he was sure of.

“Yeah,” He tells his sister, “I hate to believe it, but there’s definitely a connection. Two new regions with the same ruins and the same markings and the expeditions we send are either missing or dead. It’s not just paranoia, Iris, something is definitely happening here.”

“I agree,” Nodding, Iris glanced at Noctis for a moment – her eyes pained – before turning back to the computer on her desk. Gladio drops the papers on the table and leans toward his King. As if waiting for that one action, Noctis relaxes into him, his head still bowed. He wasn’t crying, Gladio knows, but there’s nothing like a reminder of the nightmares you’ve faced to make you feel helpless and deathly alone. The only thing keeping Gladio together was the idea that he can’t break now, not when Noctis needs him to be the Shield that he was supposed to be.

The sound of the keyboard stops and the disbelieving whisper of ‘shit’ reaches his ears, turning to the screen. Iris noticeably paled – clear even in the oversaturated color of the screen – as she looks at the screen, her eyes wide as they swivel towards them, him, and to Noctis. Even his lover looked up at her curse, as Iris’ lips open and close, as if wanting to say something but doesn’t know _what_ to say. She’s still calm-looking, but there’s a slight hint of panic and…fear in her eyes.

“What is it?” Noctis blurts out, voice sharp and frustrated.

Iris doesn’t take offense at the tone, the expression on her face not changing as she presses a few buttons on the pad. The printer starts – a robotic sound – and Iris starts gesturing to them.

“Talcott just sent that.” Her voice was high-pitched, the cadence stilted. “He, um, said that it was also on the communications log from both Terra and Olympus. One of the earliest markings they collected for translation.”

The document finishes printing, and Gladio looks up at Noctis – who is eyeing the paper like it’s something horrible and evil – and, thing is, it _is_ just paper and the worst thing you can get is a paper cut. However, the bells in his head are ringing – clanging loudly – as he grabs the paper, turning it over.

His hands turn to ice as he takes in more of the markings, in criss-crossed lines, and on the center, surrounded by a bunch of other symbols, carved deeper and larger than the rest was one _familiar_ glyph. It’s not something he could find anywhere, only on one place. A very special place. It’s a glyph that he’s seen frequently in the last few months, has felt it with his hands, his tongue and his lips. It was a symbol of hope, for him – another chance for all his missed chances. Now, looking at it, his blood runs cold. He’s only seen that symbol in one place—

“Gladio,” Noctis’ voice is not only empty, but _broken._ It’s unrecognizable.

His King raises a hand, and Gladio doesn’t have to turn to know that the symbol on the paper is the same symbol branded on Noctis’ chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contrived  
> 1\. forced  
> 2\. deliberate
> 
> Lore:  
> A. According to the Ultimania and the FF Wikia, XV's timeline is divided into A.E./M.E., following the Ancient Era/Modern Era dating system. A. E., according to lore, begins sometime between the fall of the Meteor of the Six and the apparent 'creation' of Eos by the Astrals - which I will cover in later parts of the fic - while M.E. is attested to begin once the world has been stabilized and the four nations (Niflheim, Tenebrae, Accordo and Lucis) adopted a new calendar system.
> 
> B. Lestallum - as the new capital, the city has grown outwards during the rebuilding. The city proper runs from Lestallum to the old Imperial military base in Coernix Bypass. The city hall is on the ridges in between with a view of the power plant and the Lake Cauthess.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. This fic will cover multiple POVs but I'll keep the number low so as to not lose on development for some. I also still haven't thought of the final count of chapters for this fic. On my storyboard, it's capped at 15 chapters (as an ironic reference to XV's 15 chapters) but I felt like that would have been too short for a fic like this. Projected at 20-30 chapters or so. =)
> 
> Tell me what you guys think!

**Author's Note:**

> As I've said time and time again, my readers' love for Calvary really motivated me to continue this series and I hope this will be a fun and exciting addition for you guys!
> 
> Considering this is an adventure and romance fic, so it's gonna be in a different direction compared to On Your Hill of Calvary but I'll make sure to include bits and pieces of the developing relationship between Gladio/Noctis and Prompto/Ignis and just the aftermath of Calvary. I don't have an update schedule yet or a final count on the chapters - I'm aiming for a weekly update for this compared to the binge-writing I did for Calvary (which burned me out like hell).


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